Copyright Mark C Woolridge (writing as LimeyLady), 2017
Distributed by Smashwords
All characters and events in this publication,
other than those clearly in the public domain,
are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Nine - Sleeping With Sara
Ten - Miss Williams
Eleven - Coming Out
Twelve - Friday Night
Thirteen - Ellie
Fourteen - Saturday Night
Fifteen - More Ellie
Sixteen - Confrontation
Seventeen - Bye For Now
Hi it’s me again, Davina, although I hope by now you’re
thinking of me as “Dave”.
introductions go, this is going to be a short one. For anyone who
missed the story of me losing my virginity, I’d have you know I’m
currently twenty-six and often get mistaken for a bloke. I’m also
tired of being depicted as a boring IT nerd so (quite shamelessly)
I’m regaling you with tales of my escapades with girls. That’s
purely in the interests of broadening horizons, of course. The fact
I’m basically a slut has nothing to do with it.
boyish I may be, but I have plenty of girl-on-girl tales to tell.
And I may
be flat-chested and boyish, but I am by no means butch. Equal
opportunities . . . that’s me to a T!
I’m kind and considerate, I’m going to try to make this latest
selection a self-contained story (with emphasis on “try”). If you
want to read more about my earlier adventures then please, feel free.
But you really don’t have to.
Be like me
and live for the day.
that’s enough of the foreplay. Let’s get back to October 2008 and
the joys of the upper sixth.
My five days and nights as Sara’s housemate were fantastic.
I simply cannot use any other word to describe them. I’ll give you
a general outline but it can’t begin to do justice.
could do justice to the intimate bits . . . or so I believed at the
sex was utterly, totally, absolutely mind-blowing. And we had tons of
it; tons and tons. From the minute we woke to the minute we fell into
sated sleep we hardly ever stopped. It was very highly addictive and
it kept getting better and better.
didn’t it just!
news was that school got in the way of our bedroom gymnastics. We had
to be there all day Friday, Monday and Tuesday. Tuesday marked the
end of our idyll and the temptation to bunk off was simply enormous
(even though I never bunked once in my entire school career).
Eighteenth birthday parties on the Friday and Saturday nights also
got in the way, and I never thought I would say that!
And I had
to work in the Spar on Monday evening!
couldn’t have conspired to mess us about more. Jason and the
Argonauts never had it so tough.
I’m exaggerating. But every second out of her home was lost to us
dancing, snogging and being a checkout girl suddenly seemed tame
compared to the things we could do in her parents’ double bed.
precious moments alone together were so, so hot!
obligations aside, we spent most of our long weekend practicing
cunnilingus and mastering the art of sixty-nine. And believe you me;
our skills came on in leaps and bounds. From clumsy, fumbling
amateurs we were soon up in porn star class.
God, I am not joking with that last statement. Confidence breeds
success, right; every bit as much as practice makes perfect.
practiced did we get after all those hours of rehearsal! It’s fair
to say we weren’t just perfect, we were tongue-tip perfect. I’m
shivering at the memory as I write this.
five nights were hot all right.
taught ourselves how to control our orgasms. Instead of cumming
randomly, at the drop of a hat, we began to hold off longer and
longer, building and building, higher and higher. Please don’t get
me wrong; I had no problem with cumming at the drop of a hat, but
dragged out climaxes were ace.
the ones that were really, really dragged out.
In case you’re wondering we declared Monday to be laundry day,
cleaning all the cum-stained sheets and remaking the double bed,
leaving the master bedroom as we’d found it. Then we proceeded to
stain the sheets of Sara’s single during a particularly passionate
last night together.
like me she did her own washing; we were able to stash the evidence
in her basket, under a mound of other soiled items.)
faced up to reality. For me it was another evening behind the
checkout at Spar, followed by a lonely night back at home, alone in
my own bed. Sara didn’t even have Spar to look forward to. She did,
however, have one or two irons in the fire . . . starting with a
“family weekend away”.
she did drop that on me out of the blue.
at her over the breakfast table, nonplussed. I was aware she had a
family fortnight coming up at Easter (I secretly had hopes she might
wangle her way out of it, leaving me free to housekeep with her
again). But a having a whole weekend away . . . and the coming
weekend at that . . .
I said, ‘who on earth goes to Hastings in October?’
Harold did,’ Sara said smartly.
me off track a bit. ‘Was the Battle of Hastings in October?’
was; on the fourteenth, to be precise.’
said I, ‘he wouldn’t have been sending cheery postcards home,
would he? It’s far too late in the year, even without an arrow in
little, she explained. Easter was being spent in their parents’
timeshare in Lanzarote. They had had the timeshare for ten years or
more, as had their holiday next door neighbours and their own family.
Friendships had long since been made and both sets of parents had
grown close. More to the point, this Saturday was Alan’s eighteenth
birthday party and they’d all been invited.
picking Jenny up on Friday,’ Sara told me. ‘It’s almost
impossible to prise her away from uni so I can’t back out. Mum
simply wouldn’t let me.’
said I suspiciously. ‘Don’t tell me, let me guess. You’ve know
him over ten years and he’s like a brother to you.’
nothing as corny as that,’ she protested. ‘He’s a friend,
that’s as far as it goes.’
happy and I didn’t appreciate the way she blushed whenever she
mentioned Alan’s name, but what could I do except grin and bear it?
like I’ll be partying this weekend on my own,’ I concluded
out for Ellie,’ Sara replied, ‘she’s got the hots for you,
There was one good thing about being back home: I got a full
night’s sleep for the first time in about a week. I was, therefore,
quite relaxed at school on Wednesday morning; relaxed and unprepared
to be asked to stay behind after registration.
my chair I watched our form teacher, Miss Williams, close the door
behind the last of my class, wondering what I could possibly have
done wrong. In keeping with my very boring reputation I’d never
been in any sort of trouble and my grades were all as healthy as
ever. So whatever could it be?
Williams was about thirty and taught sports. I’m a bit iffy with
descriptions so, to give you an idea as to her appearance, I’ll
just say that my male schoolmates called her “The Sex Kitten”.
Not that she looked like a young Brigitte Bardot; if you ask me she
was more like a young Audrey Hepburn, and so very athletic with it.
Brigitte or an athletic Audrey, eh; now there’s a choice to keep a
girl tossing and turning all through the night!
off the record,’ she began, sitting opposite me on a desk, swinging
her feet as if to prove she had energy to burn.
have I done?’ I asked, fascinated by her eyes (they were liquid
brown and even sexier than her nickname).
too serious,’ she replied. ‘Not that I’m aware of, anyway. I’m
just slightly concerned by all the rumours flying about.’
Dave; rumours about you, for the first time ever. I usually ignore
the grapevine, but I can’t let this pass me by.’
I’d sussed it was going to be lesbian gossip right from the off,
even though I really had been perplexed. I couldn’t dig the
problem, you see. In England the lesbian age of consent is sixteen,
same as it is for everyone else. And I was two years older than that.
Heck, I was old enough to get married off my own bat, without needing
permission from anybody . . . as long as I got wed to a bloke.
same-sex marriage was still out in those days. Only eight years have
passed but, looking back, they seem like the Dark Ages!)
some of my famous logic I suggested Miss Williams could run her
rumours by me. ‘I’ll let you know what’s true and what isn’t,’
at that and I felt a strange flutter in my tummy.
kitten, I thought, not half!
first one is that you and Sara Clarke are more than just friends,’
she said, purposefully.
lovers,’ I replied candidly, ‘so that’s bang-on.’
Williams smiled and my fluttery tummy was more noticeable than ever.
second is that you’re living as man and wife.’
wish,’ said I. ‘We’ve been housesitting while her parents were
in New York. They’re back now and I am home again. And I object to
the “man and wife” bit. We’re equal partners and men don’t
come in to it. Not that anyone’s to know what we get up to
are like Chinese whispers,’ Miss Williams said, smiling yet again.
‘They make me think of a butterfly flapping its wings somewhere
along the Amazon, causing hurricanes in Africa. One tiny kiss is all
one tiny kiss can lead to all sorts,’ I said, still fascinated by
those liquid eyes and that smile.
not altogether sure,’ I replied after some consideration. ‘My
mum’s asked a few vague questions but she’s not come right out
about Sara’s parents?’
pretty sure they don’t suspect anything.’
going to tell them?’
shrugged. Sara and I had been sneaking about and hadn’t discussed
confessing. Being sneaky had been instinctive; I don’t believe
confessions had even occurred to us. ‘It depends how serious we
get,’ I muttered.
this is off the record.’ Miss Williams smiled wider than ever. ‘But
I was in a similar position when I was your age.’
girl,’ I exclaimed.
Dave, with a girl.’
said I, ‘lucky girl, whoever she was.’ Then, seeing laughter in
my teacher’s eyes as well as sex appeal: ‘Sorry Miss. I was taken
aback. I’d never have guessed.’
actually nineteen and doing my Sports Science degree,’ she told me.
‘I made the big mistake of going to my local uni. Well I would,
wouldn’t I? It’s always been a bastion for sports and I wanted to
go to the best. Sadly, I got carried away with the bohemian
her head, holding my gaze, shrugging prettily. ‘Cutting a long
story short, I never imagined racy rumours on campus could get back
to my old folk. But they could and did.’
I said with feeling.
wasn’t so much my sexuality as me not being prepared to tell them.’
The teacher’s perpetual smile had grown sad. ‘My mother didn’t
speak to me for a year. By then my dad had passed away. He’d got
cancer and it wouldn’t go away. It turned out to be terminal.’
and said “sorry” or something just as pathetic and useless.
there at the end,’ said Miss Williams, ‘after the big
reconciliation with Mum. But Dad was out of it by then. He couldn’t
have known the two of us sat and watched him go.’
towards me, she asked, ‘Do you think your parents will kick off
about your sexuality?’
I said automatically. Then, after thinking it through: ‘No, I don’t
think they’ll even be surprised.’
don’t leave anything to chance. I know a lot of kids don’t speak
to their parents these days but some of them do. And parents do speak
to parents, don’t they? Rumours can spread like wildfire. If I were
you I’d bite the bullet and do it as soon as possible.’
I normally spent my free lessons in the sixth form library,
swotting. That Wednesday, for no particular reason, I went into the
common room, finding it quiet as a grave compared to breaks and
lunchtimes; quiet and almost deserted. I spotted Ellie straightaway.
She was sprawled out on one of the imitation-leather bench seats,
surrounded by English books.
or not to be,’ I said, grinning. ‘Is that the question?’
this play it isn’t,’ she replied. ‘I’m reading Othello.’
at that. Shakespeare wasn’t required reading for IT nerds; Othello
was out of my comfort zone by zillions of miles. ‘Wasn’t he the
wife-murderer?’ I ventured.
a victim of racial persecution.’ Ellie returned my grin as she
cleared a space beside her and patted the cushion in invitation.
her and was surprised when she immediately put an arm around me.
glad you’re here,’ she said. ‘I was just about to abandon
Venice for the Australian bush.’
like a good idea to me,’ I said, not objecting to her one-armed
the book I have to read it isn’t,’ she countered. ‘It’s on
the syllabus and it’s hard going. I haven’t even read it all the
way through yet. I was expecting shootouts with Ned Kelly, not a load
of boredom, doom and gloom.’
not to ask who had written the book. It obviously wasn’t Stephen
King or Douglas Adams. And, come to think about it, I didn’t know
any Aussie authors except Nevil Shute.
maybe Nevil Shute. I had a sneaky suspicion he might have
originated from England.
glad you’re here,’ Ellie went on, giving me a matey squeeze, ‘we
can discuss Friday and Saturday without being snooped on.’
we?’ said I.
Sara’s asked me to look after you while she’s away. She’s
warned me to keep my hands off you as well, but I didn’t properly
hear that bit.’
haven’t tried to describe Ellie before, so here goes. Like most of
our regular circle she was tall, perhaps scraping five foot seven.
Looks-wise she reminded me of Miley Cyrus in short-haired blonde
mode, except with bluer eyes and bigger tits.
could weaken knees at fifty paces.
to report, Ellie had guys sniffing around her all the time. In fact
that morning was one of the few times I’d seen her without a crowd
of sycophant admirers.
wanted to discuss Friday and Saturday.
more, she made it sound as if we were going out on a couple of dates!
really looking forward to this weekend,’ she assured me. ‘With
any luck I’ll be the subject of next week’s rumours.’
too much innuendo for me. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘but aren’t
you a straight girl with a massive collection of male scalps? One who
uses and discards blokes like Zsa Zsa Gabor? Or are you a twin sister
of Ellie’s I didn’t know existed?’
grown woman who isn’t afraid of her sexuality,’ said she. ‘And
I don’t mind admitting it; I’m very jealous of all the admiration
you two have been getting. I want my own day in the sun.’
every girl who’s ever had a crush on her best friend is wishing
she’d had your balls.’
flattered me and almost, but not quite, shut me up. ‘Tell me again
what Sara asked you to do?’ I prompted, intrigued.
asked me to be your minder, and to do whatever it takes to keep you
out of mischief.’
were the second set of hypnotic eyes I’d been ensnared by that
morning (and it was barely nine o’clock!). What was happening to
me? And come to that, what was Sara up to? She’d been warning me to
watch out for the blonde beauty only yesterday.
I thought. Interesting times or what!
I caught up with Sara at lunchtime and she was, to say the least,
evasive. In other words she agreed with Miss Williams’s advice
without demur, but hedged like billy-o when it came to Ellie.
define “mischief” for me,’ I demanded. ‘And explain how
Ellie’s going to keep me out of it.’
anything more than a dance and a kiss,’ she said without
hesitation. ‘And Ellie’s got carte blanche to save you from
yourself. I trust her with that; she’s very resourceful.’
Wednesday night date out of Sara was a darn sight easier than getting
her to explain why she was suddenly pushing me and Ellie together. In
the end I gave up trying and agreed to meet her at seven in the
Suburban, by which time we would have both come out of our closets.
I had nothing to fear. I’d been telling the truth when I said my
parents probably wouldn’t be too surprised. Knowing that and
actually confessing to them were, however, two very different kettles
with my supposedly determined head on, I dithered and dawdled, trying
to pretend I had nothing on my mind. That fooled my mum for perhaps
ten minutes (she was making a cottage pie and engrossed with carrots
and peas; otherwise it would have been more like ten seconds).
she said at length, ‘either stop hanging around my kitchen or make
yourself useful and pour us some wine.’
the fridge to find three bottles of Sauvignon (which doesn’t
officially go with a cottage pie but who cares? The French think we
English are food and wine heathens anyway). One of the bottles had
already been opened. I emptied it into two glasses.
Mum continued, ‘take a pew and tell me all about it.’
I sat at
the pine table, slurped vino and said nothing.
as bad as that, eh?’ Mum laughed. ‘Come on Dave, spill the
at the table top and wondered where logical me had gone. Whatever
Mum’s reaction (be it surprise, anger or amazement), I wasn’t
going to be physically hurt over this revelation. As one of the lads
in my form said whenever someone was in deep trouble, “Chill baby,
they can’t kill you for it”.
are rumours at school,’ I mumbled, never once looking up. ‘I
thought you ought to know.’
Mum took a
seat opposite me and elegantly sipped her wine. ‘What sort of
me and Sara,’ I whimpered.
mean about you being more than just friends?’
expected her to be so blunt but, still staring at that slab of pine
table top, I said, ‘Yes.’
you more than just friends?’
where’s your problem,’ Mum said without hesitation.
long enough to squeeze tears out of my eyes. Then I finally looked in
my mother’s general direction.
really don’t mind?’ I bleated.
should I mind? Sara’s a lovely girl.’
more vino and wondered why my eyes were leaking so badly. It had been
years since I last cried; years and years.
being honest here: I slurped more vino and wondered why I had such a
Sara’s mum know?’ she enquired.
at the retro kitchen clock. It was five fifteen . . . or as good as.
‘She should be baring her all anytime now,’ I said. ‘Hopefully
her mum will be as understanding as you.’
coughed at that and, steeling myself, I looked her in the eye. And I
saw nothing but kindness and love.
point I must apologize to everyone who has come out to shame and
ridicule. I feel for you my sisters. How lucky was I? Okay, my
revelation was never going to really shock anyone, but it couldn’t
have been easier. And it certainly couldn’t have been more
ring Carole a little later,’ Mum said.
dumbly. “Carole” was otherwise known as Mrs C or Mrs Clarke,
need to agree things,’ Mum continued brightly. ‘You are grown
women and have needs. I’m not going to come out with “not under
my roof” or anything like that, but I’m also not going to let you
sleep together every night. Not with A-levels in the offing.’
Did I just
say everything was easy and civilized? Mothers, eh? They try to help
as best they can but still make you feel as if you are five years
old. Or maybe only three . . .
And so we come to Friday evening. Sara’s parents had
collected her as school let out and set off in a southerly direction,
hoping to make the M1 before the rush hour. I had headed for home . .
. after first assuring Ellie that I would see her in The Old White
Horse at seven on the dot.
her and half a dozen other girls, of course. Not that she seemed to
care about the others. The way she was talking! It was all “us”
down Park Road, passing the end of Sara’s turning, I felt a teeny
twinge of guilt. I loved Sara and we’d only just properly got
together. How could I be going out, playing while the cat was away?
could I have been playing with myself so often over the last couple
confessed much for a while so I’ll balance the books, shall I?
Sometime in the early hours of Thursday I’d woken from a very
sexual dream. Even though I’d snapped right out of it the details
were already obscured. All I knew was that it hadn’t involved Sara.
No, it had
involved Miss Williams in . . . and mostly out of . . . her sexy
and a certain friend of mine.
massively aroused, trying to think thoughts about my official
girlfriend, I began to masturbate. But it was no good. However hard I
tried to picture Sara she kept being superimposed by my form teacher
and Ellie. Her face wouldn’t stay in my mind’s eye longer than a
few seconds; nor would any other bits of her, not even her tits.
not having a threesome. Well, I’m reasonably sure we weren’t. I
believe it was more a case of bodies and faces morphing from one
lover to the other. That is to say I did my best to picture Sara but
the other two kept elbowing her out of the way.
In the end
I gave up and focused on Miss Williams. Then, after a simply colossal
cum, I did it again and focused on Ellie, eventually cumming even
harder. And then, at last, I was able . . . more or less successfully
. . . to focus on Sara.
hours of Friday saw almost exactly the same sequence of events.
got into me? I wondered as I negotiated Main Street that evening.
questions go it wasn’t a bad one. Up until Sara’s party I hadn’t
seriously, sexually looked at women I saw in real life. I’d never
mentally stripped my girl friends or imagined going down on someone I
saw across a crowded bar. I’d reserved my baser urges for actresses
in videos and some of the models in glossy magazines.
fantasy people featuring in my fantasy world, you could say.
But now I
was seeing potential in every adult female who crossed my path . . .
and sometimes I was bringing myself off in line with that potential.
the kittenish ones in sportswear . . .
and, as I got nearer to the White Horse, how nervous!! My knees were
watery and I had that fluttery tummy again.
not a date, I told myself sternly. It’s just another
eighteenth with the same old faces.
it . . .
Ellie was at the bar when I arrived. She greeted me with a hug and
looking good,’ she assured me.
I was in Docs, blue jeans and a black and white sweatshirt,
makeup-free and looking much as always. She was mostly in black:
knee-high boots, a short skirt and a teeny-weeny leather jacket over
her low-cut blouse. To be fair she’d used minimal slap and lippy.
If anyone mistook her for a tart at least it would be an expensive
scrubbed up well yourself,’ I replied.
night’s gang was as good as assembled in various parts of the pub.
I spotted a dozen or so gals and four guys, all of them busy doing
groundwork. That is to say the guys were doing their best to do the
groundwork, with differing degrees of success.
sharing a taxi with Jacqui and Roberta,’ Ellie advised me. ‘It’ll
be here at half past so time your drinking accordingly.’
The party was at another pub; it was three or four miles out of
Bingley and seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Despite its
location it had a good reputation and was one of those places that
had phases when it was suddenly “the” venue to go to. We split
the cab fare four ways then made our way directly to the function
room, where celebrations were already in full swing.
place is buzzing,’ Ellie said, taking hold of my hand. ‘Now
there’s to be no sneaking off from your minder. And get the drinks
in. I’m parched.’
bought me my glass of wine back in the White Horse so she was correct
in suggesting it was my round. Leaving Jacqui and Roberta in a round
of their own I bought our first drinks out in the wilds. Then Ellie
bought us our next and on we went.
soon clear my super-sexy minder was going to follow Sara’s
instructions to the letter. She even came with me when I went to the
loo. That was A-OK with me. I might have been seeing some of my
schoolmates in a new light just lately, but I had no intention of
doing anything rash.
unless the opportunity arose with a blonde in black.
another of those occasions when groups formed, split and reformed. I
have no memory of who we chatted with or what we chatted about. Shoes
and ships and sealing wax, as likely as not. All I am sure about is
that Ellie wasn’t as flirty as usual. Or rather, as far as
predatory guys went, she wasn’t in the least bit flirty.
all her flirting for me.
how I read the situation, anyway. And who wouldn’t? If we were
standing in a knot of fellow students she behaved herself. If we
weren’t every other thing she said was a double entendre.
and a kiss, I kept reminding myself. That falls short of
mischief, apparently, so why not?
would have it, Ellie was setting off for refills when the music
slowed. I caught her arm and told her to ditch our glasses.
allowed one dance and a kiss,’ I said, ‘if you don’t mind
taking the lead with the dancing part. And assuming you’re even
Getting rid of our empties in no time at all she took my hand and led
me onto the floor. ‘Let me teach you a few moves,’ she grinned.
and took hold of Ellie’s shoulders while she put one hand on my
waist and the other on my lower back. Then she was leading and I was
following and she seemed like the best dancer the world had ever
keep saying things like that about everyone I dance with. But Ellie
was exceptionally good. It was easy to move with her, easy to let her
hips do all the guiding. It was easy to press my groin tight to hers,
too. And it was even easier to kiss her.
had to take the lead in something, surely, so why not that?
And it was
oh . . . my . . . GOD time again. In fact it was oh . . . my . . .
GOD time to the nth degree. I had never experienced anything remotely
close to it. My head wasn’t so much whirling and swirling; it was
on its way to exploding.
passion was mutual. The harder I kissed her, the harder she kissed
back, our tongues going at each other like Errol Flynn duelling at
his swashbuckling best.
speak for Ellie but I came in my panties before the end of the first
was it for us as far as the party went. Yes, I did determinedly stick
to the one dance, one kiss rule . . . I just made sure that both went
on for over an hour.
that hour flashed by. Before I knew it the smooch music had stopped,
overhead lights had been switched on and Jacqui was telling us our
taxi was on its way. Then she grinned at me.
Afterglow probably isn’t your best colour,’ she said, indicating
my lips. ‘Would you like a tissue?’
We split the fare as usual and the cabbie left us on Bingley’s
Town Square, debating what to do next. Jacqui was, I noticed, holding
Roberta’s hand. It seemed that somewhere during the evening they
had become an item. Or perhaps they’d been sneaking about for ages
and I’d been too wrapped up in my own goings on to figure it out.
had enough to drink,’ Roberta said to Jacqui. ‘I want to go for a
walk in the park.’
Jacqui said without a second’s pause for thought.
get assaulted in there at this time of night,’ I warned.
Roberta wants assaulting,’ said Ellie, sniggering, ‘if you
know what I mean.’
Myrtle Park, not Central Park,’ Jacqui said to me. ‘The muggers
and rapists here are cowards. I’ll soon sort out anyone who gets in
the time while the new young lovers walked off towards the Arts
Centre. ‘So what’s it to be,’ I asked, ‘The Ferrands or the
pulled a face. ‘What about a couple before last orders in Spoons?’
I had to
agree that wasn’t a bad idea. Wetherspoons shut at midnight and the
bar staff were notorious for clearing the decks within ten minutes.
The other “late” pubs would still be booming when the doors to
Spoons shut. And we did have another late night coming up on
Saturday . . .
If I’d been coming out of Spoons on my own I’d have turned right
and gone back down Main Street, towards Park Road. That night (at
12:10 precisely), because I was walking Ellie home, I turned left.
Ironically, heading straight for her house was a more direct route to
my own. It did, however, involve scaling a mountain known locally as
I have two
points to make here. Firstly, climbing is one of my hobbies; I’ll
tell more of that a little later. Secondly, Ferncliffe isn’t really
a mountain; it’s one of Bingley’s major roads and it is very,
very steep. I’d rather scale a sheer cliff face any day.
we hauled ourselves ever upward, at last reaching her turn-off which
was practically at the top of the hill. ‘Same again tonight?’ she
asked as we stopped for breath.
course,’ I replied before kissing her again, acting impulsively,
“rules” never entering any of my equations.
time was even more explosive. Every last rational thought fled from
my head. Come to that, almost all my thoughts fled; all of them apart
can we go?’ I asked urgently.
didn’t hesitate. She’d obviously been in this situation before.
She was also equally obviously as up for mischief as me.
say anything,’ she instructed, ‘don’t even whisper otherwise we
might be overheard.’
was on the opposite side of Ferncliffe to Ellie’s turning, more of
a staggered junction than a crossroads. Actually it was more of a
narrow, walled track than an “alley”. It clearly led to
somewhere; I could see lights perhaps fifty yards away. Just as
clearly it was the sort of track that hardly ever got used by
hopefully it would only be used by us at that time of night.
in and Ellie grabbed me, putting her back to the wall and pulling me
close. Our mouths had scarcely met when my hand landed on her bare
a grunt of approval through her nose.
I slid my hand inwards and up inside her skirt, onto her pussy.
Wasting no time I began to rub her, letting the damp fabric of her
knickers add to the sensation, feeling the tension in her build at a
rate of knots.
hadn’t cum earlier she did then; and violently at that.
encouraged, I slid my hand higher, stopping when it met her waistband
and immediately dipping it back down into her panties.
omigod, she was shaved as smooth as a baby’s bum! There was no
groomed landing strip, no stubble . . . nothing!!
her clit, I pushed two fingers along her slit, drew them back then,
without as much as a by your leave, penetrated her. She bit into my
shoulder and began to buck her hips, which was just as well. My hand
was in an awkward, almost cramped position; I would have struggled to
give her the vim and vigour she seemed to need.
location was, in my opinion, far more secluded than the places I’d
used near Sara’s home (not that I let Sara into my logic just
then!!). But it was brand-new to me and therefore a big unknown.
trying to say is that, slim as it may have seemed, the possibility of
being caught in the act added enormously to the occasion.
time Ellie took ages and ages to cum. Indeed at one stage I started
to think it wasn’t going to happen. Not that I ever considered
calling it a day. It was very much a case of I’ve started and you
are going to finish.
yonks later, she did.
Back across the road at her
turning we kissed once more, leisurely this time, almost coolly.
was brilliant,’ Ellie assured me. ‘I want to sleep with you.’
could be tricky,’ I replied (in Logical Dave mode). ‘With us both
still living with parents, I mean.’
a face at that and muttered to herself. Then, brightening up again,
she said, ‘That’s not the case forever, is it? One of these days
. . .’
expression gave something away: a guilty conscience as likely as not.
worry,’ she said, ‘Sara’s not to know. Okay, so she’ll soon
find out we have been dancing and kissing, but that was allowed,
wasn’t it? What you did just now is our little secret. I will never
tell, not even if threatened with red-hot irons.’ She chuckled
before adding more seriously, ‘I’ll never forget it, either.
Tonight’s been wonderful. A date with you is better than a date
with any guy I’ve ever dreamed about.’
still on for the Saturday night party then,’ I said, somewhat
we are. I can hardly wait.’
In full nerd mode I spent Saturday afternoon rock climbing (I
think I mentioned before that I’ve always liked outdoor pastimes).
Now don’t assume I was preparing for an assault on Everest. It was
more of a development in tastes. As a young girl I’d enjoyed
football, basketball and (not for very long!) rugby. Then, as a
teenager, I’d dropped the team games in favour of long-distance
know . . . I know; how boring is that! I hear you cry. All
I’ll say in my defence is that we are over-blessed by Mother Nature
in my part of the world. To the south we have the beautiful Peak
District. To the north we have the incomparable (and expanding by the
minute) Yorkshire Dales. And, not so far off to the north-west, we
have the amazing Lake District.
Pennine Way passes close by as well.
moors are your thing we have them in abundance, from Emily Bronte’s
Haworth Moor to Mary Jane’s Ilkley Moor (baht ‘at!), with dozens
of others in-between.
anyone who loves being outdoors, breathing clean air, seeing
wonderful, quite spectacular scenery and drinking fine ales could not
find a better place. Yorkshire is known as God’s Own County and I
for one are ready to allow our neighbours to share that glory.
this I can’t decide which I prefer between Cumbria and Derbyshire.
Hey, I’m even getting a bit weepy about a few parts of Lancashire!)
a great social activity but I needed a thrill as well as exercise,
hence the climbing. That was what I believed when I first started,
current stage of my ramblings (please excuse the weak pun), I’d
been climbing for six months or so. Nowadays I venture far and wide
but then I was pretty much a novice, so it was Ilkley Moor and the
easier climbs in Rocky Valley for me.
me, three friends from the upper sixth and one of them’s mum and
dad (said parents being vastly experienced with cliff faces and
extremely patient as teachers).
another afternoon well-spent. The weather was exceptionally glorious
for late October and the fresh air and exertion certainly cleared the
cobwebs from inside my head.
recharged and revitalized, I set off for a much less healthy night
That time Ellie greeted me in The Old White Horse with a real kiss,
not an airy-fairy one. Already fully accepting that my reputation was
trashed, I returned it in spades.
sentence is misleading, by the way: I never had a reputation capable
of being trashed.)
The set up
was much the same as Friday except there were more of us
sixth-formers scattered here and there about the pub. The eighteenth
that night was Mark’s in East Morton, you see. And the eight
o’clock bus literally passed the Horse’s front door.
benefit of hindsight I’d say none of us were doing A-level
Economics. Taxis would have been cheaper if we’d gone for those
people-carrier things. But we never even considered it and, when the
727 pulled up at Morton Bus Shelter, two dozen of us spilled out like
thirsty passengers piling off the stagecoach in Deadwood.
our number headed directly for the village pub, which might have been
fractionally nearer than Morton Memorial Institute, the party venue.
Or maybe it wasn’t. Whatever, Ellie had hold of my hand and she
pulled me across Main Road and into the celebrations.
Institute has, I understand, been significantly modernized of late. I
Googled it the other day and was impressed by what I saw. Back in
2008 it was relatively rough and ready. But we were students and Mark
had an affinity for the place, so it didn’t matter if it was a tad
worked well enough; what more did we need?
you and me, I couldn’t wait for the slow music to begin that
evening. Ellie was exceptionally provocatively dressed. She had
ditched the knee-high boots in favour of heels and what looked like
nylon stockings . . . all in tasteful black, of course. Her skirt was
shorter than ever and, although her teeny-weeny jacket hadn’t been
replaced, her latest low-cut blouse was almost unbuttoned altogether.
Not that I
was complaining about her appearance, you understand.
the sight of her was drenching my knickers, but I certainly wasn’t
As it transpired we only smooched for twenty minutes. Then Ellie was
saying something about fresh air and dragging me outside. I had, you
may recall, already had plenty of fresh air that afternoon. Ellie was
up for more mischief though, that was only too obvious.
And so was
I; that was even more obvious.
needless to report, I didn’t resist. In fact I may have been the
one doing all the dragging.
Institute’s front door opened onto Main Road. We took a left
followed by another and went along a ginnel, past a crowd of smokers
and onto Morton Rec. Yet another left took us past the rear of the
building and an elaborate children’s play area, into darkness.
my brain went. Oh yes, yes please!
Recreation Ground is quite large. It is also very uphill and down
dale. Legend has it that there used to be a full-sized men’s
football pitch on it. Legend also has it that the pitch was anything
but flat. Apparently guys taking corners on one wing were five yards
lower than their targets’ feet.
we were walking that was easy to believe. I was conscious of
tightly-packed contour lines and couldn’t image there being room
for a hundred metres track at the top, never mind a full football
pitch. Not that I dwelt on the issue too much, you understand.
all sorts going on in my head.
jabbering, insistent mantra: Oh yes please, Oh pretty please yes!
with it, quite rational thinking . . .
rumoured that the local pub team went on amazing unbeaten home runs
because of their playing surface. I tend to accept that as fact.
There might be more uneven strips of grass in places like Nepal and
Peru, but there can’t be so many in England.
said Ellie, her voice husky, ‘this will do.’
examined our surroundings. We’d rounded the steepest bit of hill
and the Institute was now hidden out of sight behind us. Ahead was a
high dry stone wall marking the Rec’s boundary. To our right there
was a stretch of steep hill, leading up to that long-gone football
pitch. To our left there was perhaps twenty yards of downhill and a
small but dense growth of trees.
minutes’ stroll and we had isolated ourselves.
vision had kicked in by then. I had another glance around. House
roofs were visible over and beyond the trees but I couldn’t see any
windows, so nobody that way could see me. I could easily see the
Busfeild Arms, though. It was brilliantly lit and had smokers
outside, some of them standing under a massive “smoking umbrella”,
others sitting on benches.
right of the pub I could also make out part of the cottage that would
one day become my first non-rented home. Unaware of that eventuality,
content we weren’t in its line of view, I dismissed it as not
out of sight in the shadows,’ said Ellie. ‘And the grass couldn’t
I had to
agree with that. There hadn’t been any rain in the last fortnight
and the ground was solid, as proved by her smooth progress in heels.
And a swift feel proved that the grass was indeed dry. It was short
too; it must have recently had its last mow of the year.
and hidden in the shadows. What more could a girl ask for?
Ellie and kissed her fervently. She accepted my attentions a moment
then sank down onto the grass, pulling me with her.
Logical Dave should have been worried. What if one of those Busfeild
smokers had the eyes of a barn owl? What if the grass was dewy after
all? Had Ellie checked for dog doings?
Dave didn’t waste time on such trivia. She pushed Ellie onto her
back, making sure she was lying with her head on the upslope . . .
she ravished her.
I can’t begin to tell you how good it was being Fervent
Dave. And I can’t remember enough of all the nitty-gritty details
to give you a blow by blow account. Here’s the abridged version
unbuttoned Ellie’s blouse, quite skilfully removed her bra and set
to work on her tits. After maybe half an hour of that, still nibbling
and chewing, I put my hand on her thigh.
omigod, the feel of nylon under my fingers! Trembling, I traced a
line upwards, swiftly confirming she was in stockings and not the
I’d really expected tights; it was just nice to know for certain.
moaned and sighed as I examined the straps and followed them up to
her suspender belt.
good, I thought, she’s put her knickers on over the straps.
I don’t have to undo anything fiddly.
harder than ever, she lifted her bum, enabling me to remove her
rather wet panties, sliding them down her lovely, shapely, stockinged
legs and over her heels.
Then I got
my face into her fanny and ate and ate and ate.
about it was great, from my first real taste of her to her endless
cries and begging for more and more. Don’t ask me how many times
she came or how good it was to feel her contracting around my fingers
and tongue. All I know is that the number was exponential and
sensations were out of this world.
That is to
say the overall sensations were out of this world; every time she
came they got better.
own trumpet for once, I must say I’d placed her just so. From a
lower elevation between her legs I had perfect access and she was
able to flex and twist and thrust up to meet my mouth. And, even if
the details are now hazy, there are some things I will never forget:
tiny squeals punctuating her never-ending stream of moans and sighs;
feel of nylon brushing my cheeks as I licked her stocking-tops and
the inch or so of smooth bare flesh above them;
leaking out of her faster than I could gobble them up;
she kept trying to grab my too-short hair;
she gave up with my hair and grabbed my ears, using them to pull me
even closer for every cum;
cums, rocking-horse dropping scarce compared to hers, but there all
the same . . .
between us we’d got it just so.
The weather that day had been glorious but the night did get chilly.
Not that I noticed until late on in proceedings, when I paid a return
visit to Ellie’s boobs and found them to be like frozen melons.
didn’t you tell me,’ I said, scrabbling around for her bra.
didn’t notice I was cold until you pointed it out,’ she replied,
‘and you don’t have to stop yet, do you?’
located her bra and was trying to suss how to put it back on her. I
was also suddenly aware that it was very quiet. Wondering where the
time had gone, I looked towards the pub.
it was virtually in darkness. Only ten minutes ago it had been lit up
like a Christmas tree. Or was it a little more than ten minutes ago?
Was it hours and hours?
to my mobile it was half past midnight. I got Ellie to check her
phone too, thinking mine had malfunctioned. But no, her time-check
coincided with my own.
hear car doors or anything,’ I said as Ellie redressed herself.
‘And why didn’t we notice when the disco in the Institute shut
didn’t notice because I was cumming like an express train,’ she
replied. ‘And I doubt many people drive home from this pub. It’s
too risky drinking and driving these days, isn’t it?’
Bingley Taxis as we walked arm-in-arm back towards the very obviously
closed Institute. ‘We must have been out here for three hours,’ I
said after closing my call.
very satisfactory hours,’ said Ellie. ‘I’ll have to repay you
sometime very soon.’
arrived as we got back to Main Road, before we made it to our agreed
pickup point at the bus shelter. Quarter of an hour later we were
safely deposited at the top of Ferncliffe, having what I had intended
to be a goodnight kiss.
Ellie’s hands were roving; they didn’t seem to believe the night
I said as she rubbed me through the crotch of my jeans, ‘we’re in
she said provocatively, ‘and you’re one of those super-butch
girls who doesn’t want to take any of her own medicine. Not ever
and never, never, never in full view.’
I bit at
her words. I suppose that, up until then, some part of my brain had
believed if I touched while remaining untouched I was, somehow, not
being altogether unfaithful. By that I mean some part of my deep
subconscious. As you are already aware, the rest of my brain hadn’t
been working properly ever since school finished on Friday.
accused of being a “type” . . .
Ellie’s hand, tugging her across the road and into last night’s
narrow track. This time it was me putting my back against the wall.
time I popped open the top button and unzipped my jeans. Then I took
hold of Ellie’s hand again and showed it where I wanted it to go.
Ellie told me I was her first girl; that before Friday she hadn’t
even sneaked a kiss. Well, if that was true she was certainly a fast
learner. I wasn’t massively experienced myself just then, but it
seemed to me she knew what she was doing all right.
hesitated only once, as her fingers entered my panties and
encountered my bush of pubic hair. It was not a reluctant hesitation.
No, it was a taking stock sort of a hesitation. After two seconds and
a sharp intake of breath she was burrowing away, finding my clit with
don’t ask about orgasms. They were legion and by two o’clock I
was still left wanting more. All fastened up again, back across the
road having another goodnight snog, I told her she’d been simply
want to sleep with you,’ she assured me. Then, probably mirroring
something she’d seen on the Internet, she sucked her fingers and
said, ‘Yum, yum.’
moved without engaging my (dormant) brain. ‘How’s this for a
deal,’ it said. ‘If you can find a way to wangle us a night
together, I promise you I’ll be there and I’ll be all yours.’
frowned. ‘How am I supposed to do that?’
know, but you’re supposed to be resourceful. Come up with something
and I’ll prove I’m not in the least bit butch.’
mean like babysitting or a night in a hotel?’
has to be an unshakeable reason behind it. Like maybe housesitting
and I’m the one everyone calls in to help.’
nodded. I could tell from her eyes that she was scheming already. ‘I
have the inkling of an idea,’ she said, ‘but what about Sara?’
question! My mouth hadn’t taken her into account at all . . . just
as the rest of me hadn’t taken account of her all weekend.
come up with something to keep Sara sweet,’ I assured her. Then,
somewhat spoiling the effect, I added, ‘Somehow.’
I had reserved Sunday for A-level work. Not that I was behind
or ever had been behind. No, I didn’t have last-minute coursework
to complete, only a bit of homework which I could clear in an hour or
so. I did, however, have a habit of reading in advance. Using
previous years’ exam papers to steer me in the right direction, it
was a practice which had always reaped rewards.
swotty, I know, but it made school life easier in the long run.
the early hour of 9:47 (before Mum could bring coffee and start
crashing about), I showered and dressed and got to the kitchen as she
was adding milk to my mug.
were later than usual,’ she said in place of “Good morning”. ‘I
thought you’d be in early with Sara being away.’
something and sat at the table, pinching a slice of cold toast.
‘Where’s Dad?’ I enquired. ‘Or should I ask which golf course
is he on?’
Mum put my
steaming drink in front of me. ‘I honestly didn’t listen. He did
mention St Ives, but I think that’s next weekend.’
hoping you don’t need him in a hurry.’
whatever would I need him for on a Sunday morning?’ Mum chuckled.
‘No, don’t answer that. Do you fancy a sausage and egg sandwich
with alacrity and sipped coffee before opening my phone. There were
several texts including one from Ellie. It read:
scheming is working. Keep your fingers xd and a week on Sat free.”
I mused, she’s very resourceful.
buttering a teacake while the bangers sizzled in the frying pan. I
pulled the HP Sauce a little nearer to me, ready for action. Then
another text arrived.
it was from Sara.
talk I’m in the car. I have to speak 2u tho. Its mega urgent.”
bother. Guilt came crashing down around my ears. She knew! Sara knew
about Ellie!! Some rotten ratfink had grassed us up!!!
fingers I sent a reply, trying to play the innocent.
bad. What have I done?”
response bounced straight back.
say N E thing rt now. CU at 3 in the Sub?”
it; she didn’t suggest we met on the way. No, she just suggested
the time and place. It was a confrontation she wanted, not a date.
And I knew when I was beaten.
I sent. “CU there.”
stage I told you my mum’s cooking is excellent. I’m sure her
prime pork sausages and fresh farmyard eggs were as good as ever. But
I didn’t enjoy them that morning.
tasted like sawdust and cardboard.
I arrived at the Suburban Bar at three on the dot. Sara was already
there. So were dozens of football fans. The big screen was showing
Liverpool in the process of winning away at Chelsea and, although
there were a couple of Chelsea supporters present, the atmosphere was
tense but not hostile.
been a cynic I might have thought that the atmosphere was only
hostile when it was Manchester United on the box. Not that the
Suburban was the place to allow fighting amongst its clientele. And
not that it was likely Man United would be playing their old rivals
from Leeds anytime soon.
an opened bottle of Pinot and two large glasses. She pointed towards
an internal staircase and we ascended into the elevated seating area,
which was deserted apart from us.
know how to begin,’ she said as we took pews opposite each other.
resigned to whatever tirade she chose to throw my way. ‘Just go for
it,’ I said.
so, so sorry,’ she almost wailed.
Wasn’t that my line?
all Jenny’s fault,’ Sara went on. ‘I never intended anything
like that to happen.’
has all sorts of adages and sayings. One of her favourites involves
not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Fortunately, for the first
time in two days, my brain kicked into gear. Still uncertain where
Sara was going, I summoned an expression of uncertain expectance.
Or maybe I
looked constipated. Whatever; my policy worked. Sara hurried on
To cut a
long story short, Alan had an older brother called Keith. Jenny had
known Keith as long as Sara had known Alan (obviously; they were
holiday neighbours, remember!) and last year, she had made a move.
always been man mad,’ Sara told me. ‘And going to uni has only
made her worse. In Lanzarote our parents go out on a night with his.
Not all the time, of course, but often enough. Starting from last
year Jenny got into the habit of shagging Keith while the coast was
clear. Me and Alan got the honour of being lookouts.’
solemn oaths that she hadn’t previously “done” anything with
Alan; that the two younger siblings had been the better-behaved ones.
But the situation had changed over the weekend. What, with both sets
of parents out and Jenny shagging Keith as per usual . . .
Alan’s actual eighteenth had been on the Friday, he seemed to
expect a “present” . . . and the obvious had finally happened.
so, so sorry,’ Sara wailed again. ‘It was his birthday and I know
I’m a whore . . . and . . . and . . .’
I made a
rapid and logical (no surprise there!) assessment of my feelings. The
overriding sense was of relief. I was expected to be the one giving
the tirade, not the poor so-and-so on the receiving end!